


When We Were Gods

by Estionic



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, explicit content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-09 14:20:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7805089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estionic/pseuds/Estionic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patroclus, the disgraced son of a King and a convicted murderer, is sent to live out the rest of his days in a foreign kingdom where he meets Achilles. Strong, brave, and beautiful – all the things that Patroclus is not –  and an incorrigible asshole, Patroclus feels that he is doing humanity a favour in disliking the Best of the Greeks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

When the hours of twilight and dawn blurred together, mingling in fireworks of colour in the sky, the sun always peeked over the horizon, sending a welcoming radiance on the ground blow. The humid, morning dew shined in the luminescence, sparkling like diamonds amid a sea of green.  Sitting amongst the stalks of long grass that swayed languidly in the soft sea breeze, was a simple rock. Upon closer inspection, carved delicately into the smooth stone, the name “ _Achilles_ ” stood proudly.

_I am made of memories._

The silence was broken by a breathy whisper, faint, but nevertheless, there. A woman stood a little ways off, staring off to the sea, ebony eyes squinted against the brilliance of the sun. She did not respond to the voice, but canted her head inaudibly, indicating that she had heard. The grass around her was browned, in a perfect semi-circle, as she contemplated wordlessly. After a few moments, the woman – Thetis – glanced to the side, blood-red lips pursed in thought. Barely an instant had passed before she spoke, a quiet and raspy voice, like the tide that ebbed and flowed. “Speak then.”

Once again, it had dissolved into silence, the voice taken aback by the Goddess’ willingness to hear him speak. _I will not spare none. Especially I._

Thetis shifted her stance, and stood straighter, looking like a marble sentinel. She tossed a quick, grieving glance to the stone. “Speak.”

The voice hesitated, and started to speak. To speak of the moments. To speak of the memories. To speak of who he once was. The Goddess tightened her face, feeling, perhaps, a shred of sympathy. And listened.

The voice spoke, and spoke, and spoke.  
About him.  
About the Boy who could eat the world Raw.


	2. Phthia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Patroclus makes a huge mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is unbetaed!  
> Ahhh, im so sorry for the long wait. It was hard to summon the muse for this. This was slightly painful to write, and it's not that good, but oh well

It was a mistake. It was the miscalculation of his strength. It was a tragedy. Before he actually saw the blood, he heard the crack as the boy’s head landed on the rocks, like the sounds of wood being splintered. So sickeningly loud and sudden that Patroclus stumbled back from the rapidly growing puddle of blood, stumbling over his own feet, chest rising and falling with increasing hysteria.  Willowy, brown locks plastered to his forehead, as he fell backwards heavily, owlish eyes wide with horror. All he could see in his peripheral vision were the glassy eyes, mouth agape, bronzed skin reddened with blood. Patroclus covered his mouth, eyes brimming with tears. It was a mistake.

They found him, hours later, trembling near a puddle of his own vomit, the ground beneath him wet for he had released his bladder in his fear. All his father, King Menoetius, did was stare down at him, eyes like two flints of steel, and waved a hand dismissively.

Patroclus was not worth his time then. And he was not worth his time in the present. All he did was bought him trouble, and the boy whom Patroclus had killed was very influential, and had a hand in most social circles. And they demanded compensation for his death. You could take their daughters, you could burn their lands. But the one thing you could not do was murder the eldest son of a family for they carried the weight of the family. The family demanded Patroclus’ death or his exile. And despite the negative feelings attributed to Patroclus, the King could not find it in his heart to kill his only son, that, and he had gold to compensate for his exile. It seemed that his sense of shame ( and love for gold ) was Patroclus’ salvation. From there, he was banished to an unknown land.

* * *

 

In hindsight, Patroclus knew that he should’ve brought more tunics to wear before the King. The way his mother, amidst a moment of clarity from which she was known for, hugged him with bone-crushing strength, tears brimming her eyes as if they were sending him in the wild with a fishbone, and the thinnest tunic available. All he could do was hug his mother tightly, similar tears stinging his eyes. Yes, his mother was right. Patroclus leaned down to pull out a worn tunic, holes riddling in the more intimate parts. He merely sighed, and pulled out a generic white tunic that tickled the tops of his knees.

He had no intention of standing out, opting to remain in the seas of foster princes. Invisible, and, unremarkable. Tugging the tunic on wrapping a dark purple clothe around his upper body, to give the visage of nobility, and handsome beauty when there was none, and raking a hand through his hair, Patroclus walked out the door where a servant awaited. The servant, a mousy young man, dipped his head submissively, gesturing towards down the hall. “This way, my lord. The King awaits your presence alongside with the other princes that reside with you.” Patroclus nodded grimly, sparing no smile for the servant. It was not because he was displeased, rather, the familiar tang of fear rose to the back of his throat like bile. It was custom, he had heard, for the new princes to present themselves, in front of all the princes who lived in the kingdom. _That_ alone was enough for Patroclus to cower underneath his covers. _Please, Lord Zeus,_ he pleaded mentally, eyes cast skywards. The servant pushed the mahogany doors, and gestured for him to enter, eyes swimming with sympathy.

Clenching his jaw, ducking his head, Patroclus lingered in the back of the crowd of boys. Perhaps, the Theoi would have mercy on his pitiful soul. But, it was hope unrecognized. The King raised a wizened hand, surely enough, that the buzz of the boys chattering excitedly quieted to an inaudible lull. It was so quiet that Patroclus was _convinced_ that the boys pressed against him could hear the thundering of his heart, like a thunderous drumbeat signalling war. After a few moments, the King smiled kindly, dark eyes twinkling with compassion. “My boys.” His voice was warm like honey, soothing enough that Patroclus felt the claws of anxiety loosening entirely. Perhaps… Perhaps King Peleus would not call upon him? Perhaps he would be spared the humiliation of being presented in front these _princes_ like meat. “We have a new prince with us today.” The exiled-prince felt his heart plummet into the underworld, and once again, the urge to huddle under his covers returned tenfold. “Menoitiades, come forward.”

Patroclus hesitated before pushing past the throes of boys, summoning enough of his princely training to raise his head. A few snickers reached his ears, and the insult was enough for his shoulders to square, and for anger to blaze in his chocolate-brown eyes. Patroclus took a few steps forwards, and nearly face-planted, kneeling before the king. “King, I thank you for your hospitality. I am eternally grateful.” The boy gave himself a mental high-five. For once, the boring lessons he was subjected to at home was enough to allow him to speak eloquently in front of the king. However, sweat started to bead down his temple at the lack of responsiveness from the king.

A warm hand settled onto his head, settling among downy locks, ruffling it slightly. “Patroclus Menoitiades, I welcome you to my home. Please know that you will be received here warmly, and we all welcome you with open arms. Rise, my son.” Patroclus hesitated, and rose to his feet, wide eyes darting around before settling onto the king, who offered a small smile. Before he could properly thank the king, the mahogany doors pushed open.

It was hard for Patroclus to not gape at the unearthly sight. The golden boy walked amongst the crowd, the princes parting for him reverently. _Achilles_ , the voices whispered in awe. As soon as Achilles stopped in front of Patroclus, he gave him an once-over, and held his gaze with intense sea-green eyes that seemed so much like the sea that he was fond of. Patroclus swallowed thickly, but nearly bit his tongue at the sneer that curled the beautiful prince’s mouth. The awed feeling that swelled within Patroclus burned into feelings of immediate dislike. He had enough princely pride to tilt his head proudly, meeting Achilles’ gaze with equal intensity. If there was one thing that Patroclus refused to be, it was to be bullied by some spoilt prince.

He nearly reeled back at almost-imperceptible curl of the prince’s plump lips. Patroclus pursed his lips, and frowned, moving around Achilles. Without much difficulty, Patroclus returned to the crowd, melting seamlessly with the crush of bodies. He wasn’t meant to stand out, unlike the golden boy. He was destined to a life of monotony, and upon death, fade into the nameless spirits. Patroclus raised his head, to pay attention to King Peleus, and nearly dropped his gaze.

Achilles was watching him. Patroclus narrowed his eyes at him, and there it was again. The maddening half-smirk that curled.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I sincerely hope that you guys will enjoy my fanfiction of TSOA. I'm really excited because I never usually have the motivation to write more than a few chapters, but I really want to see where this will go. Anyways, I'm really sorry that the first chapter is short. It's kind of a prologue that was inspired by a post on tumblr


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